Born in Fire
by Drarrysquee
Summary: The first chapter of my first story. Hope you like it : R&R please, more chapters will come later!
1. Chapter 1: Flames

Chapter One: Flames

The world was on fire. Everything was burning, the flames crackling and roaring their hunger, sending plumes of smoke upwards, where they formed an almost solid mass of suffocating black. The fire was alive, and it ate fuel indiscriminately, uncaring of whether it consumed wood, metal, or flesh. Draco was aware of nothing but the heat, and the desperate, unthinking, primal need to survive. He scrabbled over chairs and books, centuries of hidden treasures, toward the air above. He wasn't thinking about escaping the room. No, there was no room for such thought in his smoke filled mind. Life was about escaping the choking cloud of smoke, about climbing.

As he placed a soot blackened hand on a decayed lump of something above his head, he heard a faint noise from below. He glanced down, terrified that the flame beast was scaling the tower of junk faster than him, to witness something that he would never forget. Goyles flailing body, plummeting into the hungry blaze, emitting an agonized scream of terror and pain. The scene lasted only half a second, the time in which it took for the flames to envelop him completely, abruptly cutting off his last screech. Draco was frozen for a moment, trying to process what he'd seen. No, there wasn't time. He stored away the sight to make sense of later, and continued his desperate climb, blisters rising on his palms as he grasped burning metal.

He was breathing smoke, and he began coughing, pain racking his body, his eyes streaming. His heart was beating against his ribcage at an inhuman pace, ready to burst at any moment. He searched franticly for a handhold, gasping for air, blood rushing in his ears.

There was nothing.

His fingers slackened. His brain stopped its rapid intake of data. The realization hit him like a sledgehammer; He was going to die. The adrenaline drained from his body as if someone had pulled a plug. His fingers slackened on their precious handhold and his entire body began to tremble. In a few seconds, there would be no more Draco Malfoy. He would not be. Everything would end. His mind was strangely blank, but why should he wonder about this now? Why should he wonder about anything? None of it mattered. In a few seconds, he'd be a part of that roaring inferno below. Why wait, in fact? There was no reason to postpone his death any longer. He emptied his lungs, closed his eyes, and let go.

A fraction of a second, his stomach seemed to have fallen out of him body completely. He was falling through the air, and he was afraid. It would hurt, oh it would hurt badly. Being roasted alive. It had to be agonizing. But then it would be over, it would all be over. He was dead already, really.

Then suddenly, a sharp pain in his right shoulder. This was unexpected, as the next pain he had been expecting should have been burning, all over his body. And yet, this new pain persisted, growing even stronger, and with it came a new noise. Draco slowly brought his mind back to reality, out of the dreamlike pre-death state he'd been in. The pain was now unbearable, and the sound was loud and persistent. "A voice," Draco realized. His eyes slowly opened, curiosity getting the best of him. What he saw was shocking.

A figure ("Harry Potter," his brain supplied helpfully) on a broom, hovering, straining to hold up his own limp body. As he came back to the present, Harry gave a sharp tug on his own right arm, and he realized that was what was causing the pain. He slowly raised his other arm to grasp Harrys, and together they managed to swing him onto the back of the broom. He was still in shock at his own survival, but he had enough sense to grasp Harrys waist tightly lest he fall off. As he did this, he felt Harry stiffen in surprise, but he didn't have time to wonder why. As his brain restarted itself, Harry shot off toward the door, and the sudden movement made Draco instinctively wrap his arms tighter around him, and without thinking he pressed his face into the soft cotton of Harrys t-shirt. After a moment he realized with a jolt what he was doing, and jerked his head back so fast his neck cracked.

How could he have done that? The smoke, the fall, and exhaustion were making his mind foggy. He couldn't imagine what Potter was thinking. He was sure he'd never live it down. He was humiliated for a moment, before he realized that it was ridiculous for him to be worried about something as trivial as this when he was surrounded by living flames, racing toward a door that seemed miles away on the back of a broom flown by his least-favorite person. However, the fire somehow felt less important now. He was out of the worst of the heat, and his escape was almost guaranteed, but somehow what calmed him most was that cotton t-shirt. And the boy beneath it.

What? "Stop that!" Draco thought fiercely at himself. He was furious at himself for allowing such ridiculous thoughts to enter his mind. He glared at the back of Harrys head. "I hate you," he growled (mostly for his own benefit), but the pointless statement went unheard, swallowed up by the noise around them.

He resolved not to let his traitorous mind think any more until he could clear his head, and stared intensely at a lock of black hair as it whipped around, dancing back and forth across Harrys ear. Dracos eyes wandered across the expanse of flying black hair, and he was seized by the sudden insane urge to run his hands through it. He lifted a hand almost unconsciously and lightly stroked it.

At that very moment they reached the door, and the spell was broken as he was unceremoniously thrown off of the broom and onto the cold stone floor. He scrambled around, dazed, trying to get his bearings. His gray eyes flicked quickly around, taking in his surroundings. He was out. Out of that hell. Out of danger. He could go now, run away, and escape before Potter, Weasley, or the Mudblood decided to hex him. They were busy picking themselves up off the floor, similarly dazed, not yet able to spare a thought for the blonde Slytherin. He was FREE!

So why wasn't he already running?

He knew he damn well should be. He was surrounded by people he hated. He had perfect opportunity to get out of there and never look back. And why shouldn't he?

"Harry," a tiny, previously unknown part of his brain said traitorously. Harry was lying 10 feet from him, on his back, unmoving. Draco was snapped out of his paralysis, and instantly he was kneeling beside him, ear on his chest, every fiber of his being straining to hear a beat. Seconds passed like eternities. Draco didn't breathe, fear constricting every muscle in his body, completely frozen.

…

…

…

_Thump._

Draco exhaled, relief flooding him ("Relief at what?" his brain asked curiously). He stared down at the raven haired boy, his gray eyes wide, his own heart hammering in his chest. ("I hate him," his brain informed him feebly) Harrys eyelids twitched slightly, and as if on cue, Draco felt himself slammed as if with an invisible wall, and thrown (once again) across the corridor, to smash into the wall.

"DON'T YOU TOUCH HIM!" Screamed Hermione. She lowered her wand and ran toward Harry, crouching beside him where she was joined by Ron. Ron leapt up and stared furiously at Draco. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM MALFOY, YOU BLOODY GIT?" He roared, whipping his wand out of his pocket and aiming at Draco.

Reality. Dracos head was clear. He was on his feet, sprinting away down the corridor, Rons spells ricocheting off the walls and suits of armor behind him. He turned a corner, and the sounds of commotion faded behind him. He ran, and ran, and ran. He finally reached his destination; The girls bathroom on the first floor.

He threw open the door, and collapsed on the floor.


	2. Chapter 2: Chaos

**AN: Wow thanks for all the reviews! I really appreciate it! I hope you like this chapter, if you do PLEASE review! Or if you don't and want to offer some constructive critisicm, I'd appreciate it very much. Thanks! :D**

Chapter 2: Chaos

Draco trembled all over. As the adrenaline left his body, the effects of his recent escape made themselves clear to him. He was covered in bruises and burns, his throat raw from inhaling smoke. His palms were ravaged with blisters and scrapes, which began to burn in earnest as he came down. He lay with his cheek pressed to the cold floor, his mind racing, tearing through the recent events.

What happened? No, there was too much. He tried to sort out what was what. He'd entered the Room of Requirement with Goyle.

Goyle.. Goyle was dead.

Now away from the fire, the fact struck him as odd. How could Goyle be dead? He'd always been beside Draco, from the beginning. True, he had never spoken much, and it would be generous to call them friends, but the thought that there wasn't a Goyle anymore.. It was strange. Strange, and, Draco realized upsetting. He brought his knees up to his chest and held them there, closing his eyes tightly, and took a deep breath. Gregory Goyle was dead.

Draco had almost met the same fate. His mind reeled as he remembered the fall; what could have POSSIBLY made him let go? What could have possessed him to willingly fall into those flames, erase himself from the world? It seemed insane now, in the relative safety of the bathroom, and perhaps it was. Perhaps in the chaos of it all, he'd gone temporarily mad.

He'd've had to, wouldn't he? Everything that had happened in that room was completely mad. Things as ridiculous as Goyles death, Dracos giving up, and his rescue by Harry Potter.

A squeezing fist gripped Dracos stomach as the name arose in his mind.

_Harry Potter_.

Repeating.

_Harry Potter_.

Infinite.

_Harry Potter_.

The 2 words filled his head, swirling, a maelstrom of confusion and chaos, completely destroying his attempts to calm himself. _Harry Potter._

"I hate Harry Potter." The phrase was an echo now, a pathetic collection of words, meaningless. He repeated it, bewildered at the sudden lack of feeling behind it. What was happening to him? A battle raged within him, over what he had no idea. The wall of hate inside him had always stood, inpenatrable, cold, strong. Nothing could surpass this most infallable of barriers, the 17 years of malice and spite, a predisposition forced upon him since birth.

Nothing.

Right?

Draco had no idea how long he lay there on the bathroom floor. Movement never occured to him, really. He was in a sort of withdrawal, his awareness all focused on the war inside him, without a thought to spare for the one going on around him. Occasionally he would become aware of a crash, or a scream, but these were dismissed as minor events, of no real importance. In contrast, nobody fighting thought much about the absence of a young traitor. At one point Myrtle noticed him, and was delighted, thinking him dead. However, she was very put out to find his heart beating, and promptly flew off to cry and scream over the battle.

After a thousand years, or perhaps no time at all, Draco was suddenly distracted from his inner turmoil. A sharp, persistant pain in his stomach penetrated his cloudy thoughts, dragging him sluggishly into conciousness. With conciousness came an enormous mass of aches that was his body. His stomach groaned its hunger, and the pain had name. His mouth was dry and his lips chapped. He cracked one swollen eye and saw sunilght filtering through his long blonde eyelashes.

Cautiously, he shifted his arms and legs slightly from the position they had been locked into, and failed to suppress a moan of pain. Slowly, excruciatingly, he stretched out his sore limbs, and sat up, leaning against the damp stone wall of the bathroom. He raised his head a fraction, and stared around.

A window at the far end of the room spilled sunlight onto the scene, giving everything the bright shine of early morning. Birds could be heard chirruping merrily to eachother outside, unaware and uncaring of the dull pain the lay like a blanket over Dracos body and mind. It all looked the same as it had the day before, which was absolutely impossible. It was inconcievable that the sinks could still be there, dripping away unashamedly, as if nothing was wrong. Unbelievable that the stalls were still standing, their dark blue paint peeling as if it had the right to do such a thing in light of the situation. Unacceptable for the wall against which he leaned to be solid and stationary, just as cold and neutral as ever, so unlike the state of Dracos mind.

He staggered up, ignoring his muscles screams of protest. He had to get away from all of this wrongness, all of this infuriating peace. He needed something that would reflect how he felt, a madhouse of fear and chaos. Legs shaking, he stumbled to the door and grasped hold of the frame, staring at the grain of the wood, trying to get a hold of himself as he broke into a cold sweat.

"You're Draco Malfoy!" He thought fiercely. "Get it together!"

He took several deep breaths, and opened the door.

Stepping out inro the corridor was like stepping into another world. Chunks of stone and debris lay everywhere, scattered haphazardly across the floor. Dust swirled in beams of sunlight that shone like beacons among the wreckage. Draco observed the scene with confusion for a moment, before he remembered the battle. The war.

He was appalled that he could have forgotten such a thing, but didn't allow himself to wonder long. He set off down the corridor, shunning the obscene serenity of the dust dancing in the sunlight, in search of something more appropriate. He wandered down several similar corridors, his frustration growing more with each one. His inner turmoil raged, threatening to burst through the thin layer of sanity he had formed when leaving the bathroom. _This was wrong.. Nothing should be allowed to be so calm while he suffered so much.._ Suddenly, Draco rounded a corner, to find something that stunned him for a moment.

Harry Potter.

_ Harry Potter._

No, he wasn't ready for this, he couldn't handle it. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the dark haired boy, leaning against the wall with his head in his hands. Harry jerked his head up to meet Dracos eyes, and an electric shock ran through his body.

Dracos mind exploded, the fragile layer of sanity tipped away to reveal a raging pit of terror and chaos. His pupils dialated and even as he decended into utter pandemonium, he couldn't tear his eyes away from those brilliant green ones. Harry rose slowly, warily, not recognizing the madness in Dracos eyes.

_No._

_ Stop it. This is all your fault. _

_ Just STOP IT!_

A whimper escaped Draco, quickly turning into an unrecognizable beastial noise, and he ran at Harry.


End file.
